From This Dawn, Unto the Next
by Laziness Incarnate
Summary: [FFVI] Cyan knows not the ways of these strange folk with whom he travels, nor does he care to know. (Nor does he care to think of what he has left behind.)
1. A Man Can Never Go Home

**Chapter 1: A Man Can Never Go Home**

"So. You gonna apologize, or at least try to get along?"

One hand resting on his sword hilt, the other hanging ready at his side, Cyan paced slowly through the long grasses of the Narshean plain. He did not look towards Locke, whose cryptic manner was no doubt meant to provocate. He said: "I know not whereof you speak."

"Oh come on," Locke replied in his rolling northern brogue. "I'm pretty damn sure you know exactly what I mean."

The self-styled treasure hunter reclined against a small boulder, eyes scanning the horizon lazily while dusk cast grey shadows over his features. In his prone position, the tall grasses nearly hid him from view.

Cyan continued to pace. He did not like Locke Cole, a man who twisted his words as easily as he twisted his knife.

"Mayhap my confusion is difficult for you to comprehend," said Cyan, "but I do not think I have wronged you, and if I have, it must have been in so slight a fashion as to be hardly worth the effort it must cost you to converse with one so foreign and incomprehensible as this humble one."

Locke chose to ignore Cyan's dry solicitousness. "I'm not talking about me," he said. "I'm talking about _h__er_."

He gestured with a flick of his head.

Not a hundred _shaku_ behind Locke stood Celes, deep in conversation with Sir Sabin and Sir Edgar. The three seemed to be discussing the impracticability of lighting a fire in these grasslands, judging by the voluble gestures produced by Sir Sabin. Despite this grand display, the general's face was locked in its usual stiff approximation of human expression. Behind them, the fading light threw long, strange shadows on the undulating grasses; wheat-coloured hair wafted soft and eerie around their pale faces. He had never seen hair like that before, not until the Imperials came…

"You called her a spy to her face," Locke murmured, "and I heard you say worse things later on, to Edgar and Banon."

He had called her a murderer, a liar, a witch. He had only spoken the truth. "They took a terrible risk, letting her fight alongside us."

"It's _because_ she fought alongside us that we won."

"A moment of repentance does not wash away a life of sin."

"And yet you seemed all right with Terra."

Cyan continued his pacing. If Locke would insist on lounging while on guard duty, then Cyan would watch over the group with more than his share of vigilance. The Empire had lost the battle in Narshe, but mayhap they had left soldiers behind to spy on the Returners or harry their supply lines. There were wild beasts all around as well. If an attack were to come...the copse of trees to the west and the hills to the south offered the most protection for an enemy…

He looked again to the group of three warriors: the King and Prince of Figaro, the last of their royal line, and the woman who had burned fair Maranda to the ground, standing close together as if in friendship. He liked it not.

"Sir Sabin told me about Terra," he said to Locke. "She was controlled by a foul device; her mind was not her own. She is an innocent, and I am glad to aid in finding her. By contrast, General Chere," he could not hide his distaste, "committed atrocities with her own hands, full-knowing and full-willing. Do you expect that I am glad to travel by her side?"

"She was controlled too."

"Did she wear a Slave Crown?"

Locke squinted into the sun. "No. But, you know, that the place we grow up in, the stories we're told...we've all got a bit of a Slave Crown on our heads, don't you think?"

Cyan was given no opportunity to answer. The grasses near Sir Edgar were rustling heavily. A beast—something large and fast—must be hidden below.

Seeing this, Edgar stumbled away from the body hurtling toward him, his hand reaching for his auto-crossbow, in vain. Earlier he'd removed it from the case on his back.

The creature was almost upon him. Sabin threw himself beside his brother and put up his fists, while Celes stood her ground and drew her sword, which started to glow with eerie blue light.

Cyan had loosened his sword from its sheath and started moving toward the campgrounds, while Locke was belatedly rising to his feet. They were both of them too far away—

But what leapt from the grasses was not a monster. It was only—Gau, hands and legs outstretched, long hair streaming behind him as he leapt.

Barrelling into Edgar's knees, he pushed the tall man to the dirt.

Celes' sword stopped glowing, as if in shock. Sabin, who had been rushing forward to attack, skidded to a halt.

From his seat in the grass, the King of Figaro blinked. His hair was disheveled and laden with wildflowers.

After a moment, Sabin put down his fists and guffawed, slapping his thighs repeatedly. He trotted to his brother and patted him on the head, mussing his hair even further. Edgar said something that Cyan could not hear, but judging from his expression his words were less polite than usual. Gau scratched his head—apparently he'd tackled the wrong Figaro brother. Or had he? He was grinning.

Locke finally caught up with Cyan. "She's on our side, all right?" he said. "Just look."

Despite himself, Cyan's gaze moved to Celes, who still stood apart from the group. Her sword had not returned to its sheathe. Yet something like a smile—a false smile, it must be—flicked across her lips.

"Not all of us," said Cyan, "think that forgiveness is bought so easily."

Locke released an inelegant snort. "Have it your way, Sir Knight. But if you change your mind, I'll help you talk with her, all right? No hard feelings."

_(None at all_, _except for those of the dead._)

He said nothing, and Locke let him be. Perhaps every member of the group sensed his foul mood—they all let him be, for one night at least.

-0-0-

But Sir Gau was not the sort to let a man brood overlong.

"Sir Mister Thou," said Gau, the next day. He padded easily through the grasses—a stockier, coarser variety growing prominent as they travelled further south—and none of the insects seemed able to penetrate his hard brown skin. "You is sad?"

Cyan was jolted from his thoughts (_The rice paddies of southern Doma were more verdant than these pale savannahs, were they not?_). "If I am sad, it is because you have bequeathed to me an even stranger name than before."

"You always sad." Gau had lowered himself on all fours and was sniffing his way through the grasses. His voice was muffled when he said, "Gau knows."

Cyan shivered. A strangely cold blast of wind had struck him. It must have hurtled down from the mountains of Narshe, across the snowfields they'd left behind, to lash at his skin through the thick padding of his armour. Even into these warmer climes the cold chased them still.

"Why do you know so much of sadness, Sir Gau?" he said, after a moment.

Gau's head popped up from the ground. "See animals like that many times," he replied. "One time, mother tusker, she lose her baby to wild dogs, she cry. Tusker remembers everything. Is good, but also bad. She so sad. But she still strong. She make another baby. She happy now. But one chocobo, he leave town with no human and no food, he sad too. Running crazy. Mind is not strong, so he run run run only." Gau's young, weather-beaten face went thoughtful. "Still not know where he went."

Cyan could not immediately form a response. This boy had seen so many things in this world (_but had he ever seen his loved ones board a train for the dead_), yet still held so much kindness in his heart—even for strange old men who hardly deserved it. It was almost unbearable.

"You know so much about the animals," he said.

Gau nodded.

"One time I find girl, human girl. She very small. Lying in dirt. She say family want her no more." Gau paused for a moment, laying one ear low to the ground, listening for some unknown sign. He frowned. "But they not kill her or eat her. Very strange. So Gau teach her hide from bad animals and get fish. Gau say, listen to voice of wind, listen to nose, and you will live. She try. But she not good hunter, always hungry. Always sad. No want to move. She die."

Cyan bowed his head. Why were the innocent so often cast away by this world? "That is a sad story indeed."

"Gau miss her," said the boy. "She talk with Gau, is nice. She stop talking, is lonely."

Cyan did not know what words of comfort he could offer, so he offered none. For a time they walked without conversing, busy with their own thoughts. (_The castle halls echoed silent like this, but louder was the din of the world outside_). He wished Gau had a family to care for him. Even amongst this company, he spoke of loneliness. There were many who were alone in this world...

"Oh, look." Sabin's voice floated back toward them, oddly faint. "I think I see it."

Cyan turned his gaze toward the horizon.

What he saw was a band of white light stretching endlessly across the skyline. Or—no, it was not only light. It was sand, a great cresting wave of it, so white and pure it seemed to cast the sun's rays back into the air.

So this was the great desert of Figaro. Cyan could not suppress the swell of strange emotion that rose in his chest at the sight. He had visited the sand dunes in northern Doma before, but those craggy patches of grey were nothing like this: a true desert, vast and empty and implacable. How could anyone live in such a place?

"There she is," said Edgar, coming to stand next to his brother. "Home sweet home."

Sabin stared at the horizon. "Sure is."

(_Home._)

"If any Imperials are trying to track us," said Locke, "they won't be able to hide anymore. No more tree cover or tall grass or caves."

Celes gazed into the distance, eyes hard. "We still need to be careful."

As they came closer to the desert, the grasses gave way to scrubland: dirt and low bushes and spare, scraggly trees. The air warmed and the moisture sizzled out of the air. Everyone partook of more water, and when they came to a small stream they made sure to fill their gourds and canteens. Edgar removed his cloak and gloves and stowed them in his pack, and Locke and Sabin tied their slim jackets around their waists.

But Celes did not remove her armour. Cyan continued to wear his as well.

-0-0-

Sunset was almost too much beauty all at once.

It was too bright. Scudding clouds limned with light and colour hurtled across the sky. Near the sun, the air had turned an impossibly vivid shade of orange-pink, fading to a florid purple across the upper reaches of the aether. Small birds twittered, their voices high and sweet and full of foolish innocence.

(_Y__ou wrote her three lines of poetry in praise of sunset once; now all beauty is ash; there is no poetry left in you._)

Cyan could sense his companions relaxing their guard, chatting quietly among themselves about inconsequential things as they walked, their pace slow and easy. The air was cooling, the walk was pleasant, they had all of them grown complacent.

But if they would not worry about their path, then he would. He chuffed at the earth with his boot. Sand now, not merely dry dirt. A dry, hostile landscape, where the ground itself wished to slip out from beneath their feet. And it was growing dark-soon the land would be lit by nothing but stars and moon. How far did they have yet to go?

Shading his eyes against the glare, he squinted at the horizon (his eyes were not as they once were), and thought the dark lump in the distance might be castle-shaped.

"I guess that's it, huh?" Sabin's voice was conspicuously cheerful. "Just like I remember it."

"A stone castle in the desert," said Cyan, shaking his head. "I had heard the tales, but I do not think I truly believed in them, until now."

"Uwaaaoooooooohh…"

"Once you visit a few times, you start to get over it," said Locke, "and then you start to wonder what kind of crazy coot runs this place."

"Hey," said Edgar.

Celes' voice came brisk as the cooling night air. "Should we try to brave the desert now? We're in a hurry after all."

They gazed into the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

"We should," said Edgar, after a moment. "I know you're all tired, but this is often the best time to travel. Heat stroke is a real possibility during the day. The night has its own dangers—but we're all young and strong." His gaze drifted to Gau. "And we all made this choice."

"We _have_ no choice," said Locke. "Terra's trail is getting cold."

"Uwaooo," Gau agreed. "She fly, we walk. No can track easily."

Edgar set down his pack and rummaged around in it, pulling out his cloak. He fastened it once more around his shoulders. "Let's push ourselves to make it the oasis before we rest. It'll be another half-day after that to the castle."

"That long?" said Cyan in dismay.

"The castle looks a lot closer than it is."

"A remarkable natural defensive barrier," said Celes.

"If there's no word of Terra in the area," said Sabin, "we should move on pretty quick, right?"

"Yes. We'll travel via the Figaro Special."

"I wish you and Locke would stop hinting at this mode of transportation and just explain this to me," Celes sighed. "What do you mean by that?"

Edgar smiled broadly at her. "We take a little shortcut underground."

"That doesn't explain anything."

"We'll go under the mountains and head to Kohlingen."

"Great," said Locke. "My favourite place."

Edgar's smile became slightly strained. "Well, first let's worry about getting to the castle. If we're lucky, we'll run into a caravan and cut our travel time in half."

"Or, you know, if we're not lucky, we'll run into some sand rays and end our travels immediately."

"Aren't you the optimist, Mister Cole."

"Just call me Mr. Optimist."

Sabin stepped forward, eyes fixed on the grey lump on the horizon. "Let's get going," he said. "No more of this dilly-dallying."

Gau trotted up to Sabin and grabbed his hand. "We go. Faster! No being sad, Mister Thou."

"Okay, okay! No need to yank my arm off. Anyway, Mr. Thou is over there."

"He is Sir Mister Thou. You is Mister Thou."

Sabin let himself be pulled along, but he threw back a grin at Cyan over his shoulder.

"Mr. Thou," Edgar murmured, watching his brother and the boy with an altogether odd look on his face. "Come on, _Sir_ Mister Thou. We'll give Mister Optimist and his lady friend some privacy."

"Excuse me?" said Celes.

"Yeah, shouldn't Celes have a nickname too?" Locke quipped. "'Cause, you know, Edgar has so many. 'The Pervert King' and 'King Crabs' and all that.

"I do not have crabs."

"I will act as rearguard," said Cyan, cutting off their pointless conversation. "Pray walk a little ahead of me, and let me watch for danger from behind."

Edgar nodded. He turned to follow Sabin and Gau. "From now on let's talk more quietly. We'll need to listen for our sand ray friends, and worse."

"Wonderful," said Locke.

-0-0-

Night fell, as it must.

For Cyan it was both a boon and a curse. His padded armour, a boiling prison during the day, shielded him from the worst of the sudden, merciless cold. But the dark was oppressive, and there were too many dangers that could assault them in the strange spaces of the night...

(_It was a clouded sky that day too. At first you could not see the patina of oil on the moat; or maybe you told yourself it was nothing, but all along you knew..._)

"I should have brought my warmer coat from Narshe," Locke blathered as he rifled through the small pack fastened to his belt. "I always think it's too heavy to bother with, and then I regret it when I get here, inevitably at night."

"Please hurry with the torch," said Celes, who seemed not to feel the cold at all. "We need to be able to see where we're going, not hear about your lack of foresight."

"Now _that _is cold."

Locke's flint ignited the torch with a _fwoosh._

"Let me bring that to the vanguard," said Celes, taking the light from Locke, sparks flying behind her.

"You sure you'll be—"

"I'll help them watch for signs of danger."

"Thank you, Celes," said Edgar. "We'll keep an eye out as well, from back here."

Her cloak snapped crisply behind her.

"Do you think I might be smothering her a little?" said Locke.

"A little," said Edgar.

They walked on.

In the torchlight Cyan could not trust his eyes. Every hint of movement became a monster—or worse, a human—set to strike at them from the dark. The shadows played eerily across the forms of his travel companions.

He trailed behind the group, ears open and alert. He had trained for this sort of soldierly work, though it had been a long time since he had marched anywhere but at the heart of a formation (_beside his king, who no longer needed protection_). He had grown accustomed to younger soldiers taking the dangerous outer positions, each man and woman in their correct place.

But here in this small group, each person was master only of the self. They did not think so much of rank. And in order to travel with these Returners, Cyan had come to adopt some of their ways. How could he not, in this time of great need, when even the King and Prince of Figaro must wander like vagrants? (_How could he not, when Doma and its ways were lost?_)

He did not care to wonder whether Celes too might be discomfited by the informality of this company. He preferred not to think of her at all.

"The sand rays should be waking up about now," said Locke to Edgar.

"Cool and dark...an almost moonless night...these are perfect conditions for them to be out and about."

Locke's eyes were scanning the sand diligently. He was not lounging now. "Maybe they won't be hungry tonight."

"They're always hungry, my friend. That's what makes them so loveable."

"When I walked this route with Terra," a wistful note entered Locke's voice, "we got attacked by a whole bunch of them all at once, some of them bigger than me. She burned the hell out them."

"And you didn't figure out right then that she had m-m-m-magic?"

"Shut up, Ed. I was busy trying not to die, and almost delusional with poison."

(_The first sign was the oil. Later came the bodies, floating face-down in the purple-black waters..._)

"If we see any large groups like that," said Edgar in a more sombre tone, "I'll try to get them at long range with my autocrossbow."

"Yeah. Celes' magic can help too, and my boomerang. But only if we spot them early enough. There's so little moonlight. I've never seen it so cloudy in this desert..."

"The air feels heavy. I think it might actually rain."

"Even better," groaned Locke. "We'll have to be extra cautious. By the way, we don't have many poison antidotes."

"How many?"

"Three doses. I had to practically twist a guy's arm in Narshe to get 'em. And nothing I did could convince them to rent out their chocobos."

"Trade is practically at a standstill. Everyone is spooked by the recent attacks."

"Time to give some inspiring speeches, King Crabs."

"My speeches will be very crabby ones if you keep calling me that."

Locke chuckled. Then, after a moment he said, "We won't be staying long in Kohlingen, will we?"

"I imagine not. However, it will depend on how quickly we can gather information."

"It won't be hard. People in Kohlingen love to gossip." Locke said this with bitter surety. "If one person saw Terra, everyone in town will know it."

"True. That reminds me...before we get there, are you going to tell Celes?"

"Tell her what?" Locke suddenly took on a guarded tone.

"About Rachel."

"Why would I?"

"She can either hear it from you or she can hear it from the gossip around town. Up to you."

"I suppose."

"Best to get it over with all at once," said Edgar, not without sympathy. "Trust me, it's better that way."

"Yeah. Sure."

Cyan, for his part, knew not of what they spoke, but he was sure it was nothing good. Several years ago, the Empire had attacked Kohlingen based on vague rumours of Returner activity. Even in distant Doma, Cyan had heard tales of the brutal interrogations, and senseless slayings…he could not remember all the details, but he knew Figaro negotiated for the Empire's withdrawal in exchange for the signing of a trade agreement. Later, that agreement became a full-fledged alliance.

He wondered if Edgar and Locke met during that time. Perhaps that was why they seemed so strangely close.

"I don't want to stay overnight in Kohlingen, all right?" said Locke in a harsh tone entirely at odds with his usual manner. "Even if you all decide to stay for the night, I'll go camp out in the field."

In the darkness, Edgar's silhouette nodded. "I understand."

"Thanks," said Locke. "As always."

Cyan thought they must have forgotten about his presence. Or perhaps they thought his old ears could not catch their words, or they simply did not care that he heard their private talk. He wished he had not heard. There was something intolerable about their brotherliness. By contrast Edgar and Sabin had been acting oddly distant from one another, and the silence grew louder the closer they came to Figaro Castle.

(_You should treasure your family while you can. You should go home again, while you can._)

Alone with his thoughts, Cyan drifted further from the group.

-0-0-

Note: There are actually scientific explanations for why sunsets in the desert are particularly beautiful. Google it!


	2. The Desert Dreams of Rain

**Chapter 2: The Desert Dreams of Rain**

He felt a droplet hit his nose. Then another alighted upon his head.

The last slice of silver moon went black, eclipsed by a veil of clouds. Beyond the small circle of light cast by their torch, the land lay moonless dark. Thunder rumbled overhead.

Cyan had just flipped the hood of his cloak over his head when the rain washed over them in a torrent. Instantly the torch in Celes' hand sputtered and died, plunging them into utter darkness.

There came the plaintive howl of a desert wolf, a low shivering sound quickly swallowed up by the pounding rain.

"Well there you go," said Locke's voice. "Just like you said, Ed."

"Edgar!" Celes called from ahead, a disembodied voice in the night. "How far to the oasis?"

"Another hour! No—two hours in this weather!"

An icy blue light appeared: a spell centred on Celes' sword hand, held aloft for all to see. She beckoned for them all to gather around her, as if to an Imperial summons. Cyan frowned. The faint witchlight was hardly enough to see by in this downpour. He stumbled toward it, tripping over the grooves and hillocks and tiny shrubs in the sand.

As he drew near, Cyan saw frost forming on Celes' wet fingertips. The general's ragged hair clung to her skull, the blue light highlighted the hollows beneath her brows, and for a moment she looked tired and vulnerable—as young as she was purported to be—until one saw the stern set of her jaw.

By contrast: "Uwauuooouuu!" Gau cried, dancing like he was under the water of Barren Falls.

"Well aren't you a happy camper," said Locke.

"No, not good! Gau blind in ears, blind in nose! Can see only rain, smell only rain, hear only rain!"

"I suppose this wasn't part of the route planning," Celes said wryly.

Edgar bowed his head. "My apologies, milady. In my defence, it rains only every two or three years in these parts."

"Lucky us," said Locke.

"Rain's a blessing in the desert," said Sabin, shaking water off his back like a large wet dog. "Tomorrow the desert will bloom with a million flowers. It's a beautiful sight and you're lucky to catch it. Hopefully you won't catch any other things while you're here."

"Achoo," said Locke in lieu of an actual sneeze.

"It'll probably start flooding soon," Sabin added. "The ground is so dry and hard, it can't absorb the rain."

"This just keeps getting better and better."

"We can take shelter at the oasis," Edgar cut in. "The guard tower there is built of stone and sealed against rain. Celes, can you give us light for another hour...or two?"

Her brow furrowed. They all looked at her hand, where the tiny blue light pulsed brighter for a moment, then weaker but steadier. "If I keep it at a low level like this, then yes, just barely."

"It is so faint," said Cyan. "It will not allow us to see our attackers before they come close, especially in this weather."

"But it'll help us not trip over a rock or fall over a dune and break our necks," Locke retorted.

"We should all stay close," said Edgar. "Make sure no one gets separated, no one falls. Communicate. The greatest danger is getting lost or getting sick. Most of the monsters will be taking cover right now."

"And all the sensible people too," said Locke dryly. Or wetly, rather.

"Let's make a column of pairs. Celes, I think you should be in front with the light. Locke too. On foot he knows the route better than I do."

"All right," said Celes.

"Good thing we have you here," Locke chimed in, smiling.

Celes looked away from him, but did not protest when he stepped beside her.

Edgar gave them a dubious look, but swallowed whatever he was about to say. He took his brother's hand and dragged him over to stand behind Celes and Locke. Now it was Sabin's turn to put on a dubious look. "Are we seriously going to walk around in a line like school kids? Maybe we should hold hands."

"We'll be right behind you," Edgar said to Celes and Locke. "Cyan and Gau, take the rear."

"Sir Mister Thou," said Gau. Drenched to the bone, ragged hair pasted to his shoulders and head, he looked more like a wild animal than ever. "We walk together."

"As long as you refrain from jumping on my shoulders, Sir Gau, I would be happy to walk beside you."

Gau grabbed his wrist, and everyone lined up in formation. Celes held the light up high; they all began to march.

-0-0-

No doubt they looked ridiculous—six mighty warriors, drenched in rain and huddled close together in the dark—but there was no one who could see them here, so it hardly mattered how they looked.

Cyan looked down and saw that the wind-grooves in the sand were filled with water. No great impediment to their progress, yet; but after a time, he saw the snake-like rivulets join together, knotting into low streams of water winding their way between the dunes, like great water-beasts swallowing up the smaller fry. He was reminded forcibly of the ancient creatures he'd spied in the dark recesses of the Serpent Trench, the slow and sure way they crawled toward him, mouths gaping...

Grimly, the six humans moved to the tops of the dunes, higher ground; but rain and wind and flood washed the sand away beneath their feet, making for dangerous footing at night with only one faint witchlight between them and eyes drooping with lack of sleep. After a few near-tumbles, they resigned themselves to the valleys between the dunes, pace cut nearly in half as they sloshed through ankle-deep water and picked their way carefully through dunes and debris.

Cyan spied a dead rodent of some sort floating in the water, but he did not speak of this to anyone.

"I'm glad I wore my tall boots," Edgar could be heard saying to his brother. "I feel bad for you in those flat shoes of yours."

"Are you kidding?" said Sabin. "These shoes are meant for all kinds of weather. They're light and flexible and they repel water—I think they're made out of a secret material that Duncan's cousins produce from some secret reeds they gather in a secret mountain lake or something. I feel bad for _you_ in those heavy boots. You must feel like you're trudging through mud."

"Sometimes, yes," said Edgar thoughtfully. "You don't think Duncan's cousin might be willing to share the location of those reeds?"

"Did you not hear me say 'secret' three times?"

Cyan felt his eyelids droop. Despite his thick hood, he felt water seep down his neck, past his armour, into his clothing.

His flow of energy, his _ki_, was weak. Perhaps in this storm, he could lower his guard a little. Even Celes looked too weak to be a threat. As Sir Edgar had said, their greatest worry was not violence, but separation and loss…

Gau's hand was rough with calluses, and overly large compared to the rest of his wiry body, but still it was smaller than Cyan's. Even soaked in rainwater, the skin was very warm.

(_Owain's hand was small and delicate, always a little cold compared to the rest of him. You held it when it went colder still._)

"We're making pretty slow time, huh? Like a twelve-legged race." Sabin was glancing back at Cyan over his shoulder, face steeped in shadow but still full of its usual kind intent.

"I am glad we are moving," said Cyan, rousing himself so he could reply. "I prefer this to fretting on the edge of the desert, waiting for day to come."

"Still, sorry for the cold welcome to Figaro. You too, Gau."

"Gau okay!"

"I can see that. Or rather I can't. I can't see much of anything. But I can sense it!"

"Uoooo!"

"Cyan, I bet this isn't how you expected to come to Figaro."

"Do not worry on my account. I had no expectations at all."

"But you should," said Sabin, voice rising over the rain, "have some expectations. You should care about how you're treated."

"Why? I am not an...emissary, or important visitor from afar."

(_None would come from Doma now._)

"That isn't what I meant."

"I do not wish to be a burden."

"No, I….Look, Cyan, I shouldn't tell you what to do, but you can...you know, you can...live a little, right?"

"Uwauuu…" said Gau in a low voice.

The rain seeped through the cracks in his armour; the cold assaulted his mind. (_In the storm season he had always worn a heftier coat made of rice straw, one his wife wove anew each year after the fall harvest. Now he remembered how heavy it was, how it weighed on his back._) The floodwaters, deeper and swifter now, dragged at his feet. He imagined lying down and letting the current carry him away, his body silent and still. His burden would not be so heavy then. In this darkness none of his companions would notice his absence until morning.

Cyan shook himself. This storm was an evil, cursed thing, to inflict upon him such morose thoughts. "I am fine. I have survived much worse in the field before."

"We all need to do more than just survive, Cyan."

(_What is there but survival after you have seen your wife's body lying bloated and still; after you have cupped your hands over your son's mouth to halt the blood, but still it pours forth like a river between your fingers…)_

"I know not," said Cyan, "whereof you speak."

Sabin raked a hand through his soaked hair—a pointless action, in this weather. "I just meant to say, if you want to talk, Cyan..."

"Light!" Locke's shout drifted back to them. "Up ahead!"

Cyan looked up. A yellow light, warmer and brighter than Celes' witchspell, burned less than one _ri_ to the south...or so he thought. He could not trust his eyes in this strange place.

"The oasis," said Edgar. "The signal fire must be lit in the guard tower."

Despite their exhaustion, their pace quickened, and Cyan forced his old legs to push faster through the water. His boots were soaked. His muscles burned with each step. He wondered how long he could continue to march at the pace of the young. But he had to keep going. (_There is nothing but to survive._) He had to keep living, to carry his sword until he could no longer bear its weight. (_There is nothing but to survive, to take revenge._)

As they drew nearer to the light, he realized it was further than he thought. It was also _larger _than he thought. He had supposed the light to be a lamp of some sort—but no.

Nothing so tame as that.

"Are you sure that's the signal fire?" said Sabin.

Edgar's voice was filled with doubt. "It looks...larger, doesn't it?"

"What kind of fire can burn in this rain?"

"An oil fire, maybe."

"Or," said Sabin, "it could be...magic, right?"

Still marching forward, Celes turned her head to speak with them. "Unlikely. Even a magical fire would be put out by this much water." Then she looked at her hand, at the ice gathered around it. "Though I suppose...someone with enough power could keep a fire spell going continuously…"

"It has to be Terra!" Locke sounded wildly sure of himself. "The last time we saw her she looked like an...she transformed into something very powerful. She can even fly! Who knows what else she can do?"

"She make big magic, _guoooooosh_," Gau said.

"The caravan folk often gather at the oasis," Edgar murmured. "If they're there…"

A spark of worry appeared in Sabin's eyes. "She didn't mean to hurt us."

"Let's hurry," said Celes.

Her spellarm was shaking, whether with magical or physical exhaustion Cyan did not know. But the light in her hand did not waver. The magic created a certain air around her (_like the smell of incense in the temples, the chanting of the blind fortune tellers in their caves, the breath of the wind under red shrine gates_) that he thought he could recognize now. Her spell was a void, a hole in the world, one she filled with her own _ki_. An abomination: the Empire's unnatural gift, unleashed on the world through this child-warrior...

But her footsteps were steady, setting the pace for the rest of them to follow. She moved as though without a thought for her own welfare, seeing only the mission before her. Cyan could not begrudge her a certain amount of respect. Though she deserved neither trust nor forgiveness, he thought he could understand her soldier's spirit, if only a little.

"Sir Mister Thou," said Gau. "You okay?"

"I am tired," Cyan admitted. "I think all of us are in need of rest. Still, I am glad we now have hope of fulfilling our mission."

"We always have hope, never lose it." Gau sounded almost affronted.

Glancing at the boy, who splashed through the floodwater with new energy, Cyan could almost imagine himself being a little younger than he was.

He spurred himself on, eyes locked on the fire. At times it seemed to blur and sputter in the dark curtain of unending rain. But it did not die. It grew larger and more fearsome as they drew near.

If the girl Terra had truly created this conflagration...what could they say to her, what could they do to stop her?

-0-0-

Notes:

Desert floods are real and they can be quite dangerous! Just google it and you'll see a lot of videos in different parts of the world.


	3. A Woman Fights with Fire

**Chapter 3: A Woman Fights with Fire**

They arrived in time to see the oasis burn, not to save it.

Demon-like, the fire twisted and roiled through the air. Flames engulfed plants, spiralled up tree trunks, danced at the edge of the water. Metal husks of caravans glowed red hot in the hungry forge. At the centre of the blaze stood the stone guard tower, but for how long Cyan could not say. Flames billowed and blasted from within it, directionless and greedy, leaping upwards and outwards as if clawing at the air.

Intermingled with the roar of the inferno—the din of human screams.

(_You have heard those sounds before. They were ripped from your own throat._)

He wanted to stop his ears. It was unbearable, the sounds.

"Goddesses," said Sabin.

"There are so many people here," Edgar despaired. "They can't all be caravaners."

"No!" a young woman shrieked, clawing against the arms holding her back. Her bald head was covered in angry, oozing burns. "Let me go! My child is inside."

"It's too late," said another woman. "We saw—"

"Please! Please." The woman slumped over. "She's still alive…"

"We...what should we do?" asked Locke.

For once, Edgar seemed not to know what to say.

And still the rain fell, feeding the fire rather than extinguishing it, as if in mockery.

(_Like the fall of Elayne's tears, Elayne's blood as you pressed her against you one last time._)

"There are people trying to save their caravans," Celes spoke with a strangely calm urgency. She pointed at the outer reaches of the conflagration, where the white canvas tops of the caravans glowed orange with reflected light, so close, so close to the edge of the fire. Cyan could see men and women and even children stubbornly pushing and pulling at the wheel struts, terrified chocobos straining at their harnesses. The floodwaters, reaching halfway to their knees now, pushed back furiously against their efforts.

"We go help," said Gau, his young face alight with determination. He jerked at Sabin's shirt. "Go now, hurry."

"Yeah." Sabin visibly shook himself. "Let's go!"

"Wait, we need to plan—" said Edgar.

Too late. Sabin and Gau were already splashing toward one of the caravans. Cyan hastened to follow, his body moving without thought.

"Wait!" From behind, Edgar's voice was calling them, but he paid it no heed. It was better to do something than stand and think and remember—

(_You felt her shudder against your shoulder as you whispered words of false comfort into her ear. Then she lay still, her weight lying heavy against you._)

The air was thick with black, oily smoke. He covered his mouth with one hand, straining to keep Gau and Sabin in his sights. He coughed, then took in a breath so he could cough some more. Then he realized his lungs were too full of heat and soot and smoke to let in any air. He gagged. It felt like he'd swallowed a knife; it was cutting at his flesh from within. Air, he needed air, but the air was poison…he thought he heard a young woman breathing raggedly behind him, or perhaps a child. The screams and weeping did not end…

(_The red fell across your vision like a curtain. You don't remember what happened after that, but when you woke there was blood on your sword and Kefka'a laughter running through your veins like poison..._)

A heavy hand on his back pushed him down, forcing him onto one knee. He met his own reflection in the oily, blackened floodwaters: wild-eyed, grey-faced, mouth twisted in a grimace.

"Stay low and don't breathe in the smoke," Celes warned.

Her words were like a wet slap to the face. Cyan bristled reflexively at her touch. (_Of course the destroyer of Maranda knows the ways of fire_.) He almost welcomed his anger. Better anger than—

But the retort died on his lips the moment he saw her face. It was so gaunt. The veins on her neck stood out starkly blue. Her eyes were too bright, gleaming with lucid focus. He knew what state she was in: that emptiness, that hollow calm inside the mind and soul. Later, the exhaustion and pain would come, all the greater for being buried so deep.

Seeing this, he remembered: he was a warrior too. The emptiness was in him too.

(_After the red rage left you, it took all your grief with you, left you empty, blessedly empty._)

"Terra!" Locke yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth. "Terra! Where are you! Terra," he coughed, voice going hoarse.

"She's not here," Celes said, pulling Locke down into a crouch beside her so both of their faces were out of the smoke. "This fire isn't just magic...I think it's magitek. Something special from Vector's labs."

Locke rubbed smoke and rain out his eyes and grimaced. "There's oil evaporated in the air. I can smell it."

"It's in the rain too."

"Where's Edgar?"

"Gone to help Sabin and Gau."

Cyan finally got his breathing under control. "We should go to them," he wheezed.

"Celes, your spells…" said Locke. But as he spoke, his face fell; he saw her exhaustion.

"We can help," said Celes, "by finding the source of this fire and putting it out."

Cyan turned his head toward the tall guard tower at the centre of the blaze. It looked on the verge of collapse, its wooden beamwork and rooftop already brittle. On the ground, plants and trees and the remains of tents and caravans continued to burn. Even the oily surface of the oasis itself was starting to catch fire…

Celes gazed for a long, pregnant moment at the stone tower.

"I can do it."

"No, Celes," said Locke, voice rising in alarm. "It's suicide."

Slowly, the soldier shook her head. "I can absorb this fire. With my runic blade."

"You can absorb magic, not magitek. You told me that yourself!"

"It's all the same in the end." Her voice was empty but somehow full at the same time. "It all comes from the same source."

She stood. "Thank you for everything, Locke. I mean it. Cyan," she said, not meeting his eyes, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I've done."

Not looking back, Celes drew her sword and started toward the stone tower.

"Oh no you don't!" Locke stumbled after her, crouching low. "Not alone!" He pulled off his bandana, wrapped the soaked fabric around his face, and dove into the smoke.

And Cyan was left alone.

For a moment, he closed his eyes and let the hot ashen wind wash over him. This was the way of things he remembered: the silence of the mind after battle, the curtain of nothingness cast over pain, the emptiness of the soul closing in.

(_If you have nothing, there is nothing to lose._)

He opened his eyes.

-0-0-

Smoke and flame, ashes and rain.

Closer and closer to the heart of the blaze...the blacker and hotter the air became.

He was aware of Celes, her slender figure standing tall despite the smoke, sword raised high in her shaking hands.

He was aware of Locke just behind her, pleading with her to not throw her life away.

He was aware of the rain: the thundering pulse of it, louder even than the fire...and in it the smell of oil, of _ki_...of magic. He knew the smell of magic now. It was everywhere. It was the smell of incense, of wind beneath a _torii_ gate. He wondered how he could not have noticed it before.

He saw the woman's sword glow blue, then white, then red. He saw the woman straining against the fire flowing into her blade, her cry of agony as the poisoned magitek gathered in her hands, her arms, her body.

He saw the man wrap his hands around hers, eyes locked with hers. He saw them exchange words. He saw the sword glow brighter and hotter, devouring the fire faster now, and he saw the woman's face go calm as she shared the burden of her magic with another.

He saw that her arms still shook. He saw that the fire would not die like this, not while its lifeblood still fed it. He saw that a path into the heart of the inferno had been won, but would close before long.

And he saw that, at last, at last, his seat on the phantom train was ready.

-0-0-

Notes:

My original plan for this story involved a few bandits (including Lone Wolf) causing a bit of mischief with the caravaners. I am not sure why I ended up setting everything on fire, but I blame Terra.


	4. A Man Remembers to Weep

**Chapter 4: A Man Remembers to Weep**

Inside the tower, buried under layer upon layer of stone floors, Cyan could no longer hear the rain. He could no longer feel the pain of smoke in his lungs. He hardly needed to breathe.

The fire was slaked, but not for long.

He knew to go upward. To take these spiralling stairs, to duck under that broken doorway, to dodge that falling stonework. He followed the stench of magitek—a rankness in the air, different from the clean void-scent made by magic—and knew somehow where to go. Later, the world of magic would be closed to him, but for now, with the gift of the battle-emptiness upon him, the way was known.

As he travelled he kept low to avoid the smoke, the rain of sparks and debris. He avoided the places where the walls looked ready to buckle and fall, the places where mortar sizzled hot between smoking, cracking stones. He did not stop to look at burnt flesh or bone or other human remains.

He was aware of voices calling him from below, footsteps following his, but he did not heed those sounds. Higher and higher he went, and closer and closer he came to the wooden roof, where the fire still roared hot and the smoke gathered thick.

At one point a stone came crashing down nearly on his head. A spray of sparks flew against his neck, burning his skin. These things he accepted readily.

Near the top of the tower he came to an open doorway. The metal door to lay off to the side, blasted clear off its hinges, melted into a twisted, smoking heap. Ash and bits of burnt paper, burnt flesh, fluttered lightly through the air, coating his skin and armour and hair. The smell of oil was strong. It was a strange, earthy oil, heavy with the nothingness of magic.

He stepped through the ruined door frame into the room.

The floor inside was covered in debris: hot stones and metal supports; broken lances and swords; melted guns and cannons; splintered barrels and boxes and shelves. Flaking hats and cloaks and uniforms, human bones and human teeth, lacking their human flesh. These things still burned, or sizzled, or smouldered like ready coals, aching to ignite or explode at the slightest spark.

Above, in place of a ceiling was a gaping hole. It must have collapsed, and the contents of the room above had fallen into this one.

He tread carefully, picking his way through the crackling mess. It was difficult to move forward. The middle of the room was blocked by a large metal structure; the broken, melted shell of a Magitek unit. The jagged metal claws were the only identifiable pieces. But this was not where the miasma of ill magic originated from.

He looked around more. Not far away from the Magitek unit lay a young man, nearly buried amongst a pile of ragged scrap metal and wood.

Cyan moved closer. The man's hair had burned away, leaving his head bare and vulnerable. His skin was scabbed with layers upon layers of blackened, papery burns. One of his eyes had melted into its socket. His teeth and jawbone were visible on one side.

The young man breathed, a little.

Cyan shoved away the smoking debris covering the man's body.

"No…" A gurgle of blood spilled from his ruined mouth.

Cyan saw. With one hand, the man clutched a runic sword. It curved gently like the sword Celes carried. Like a katana. It glowed so red it was almost black.

With his other hand, he hugged a Magitek core against his chest. It cast a dull green glow against the blackened scraps of his uniform.

Long, thick shards of shrapnel protruded from his belly.

With great effort, the young man craned his head and peered up at Cyan. His eye shone too bright. The scabbed cheek on his good side shone wet with tears. He produced a small groan and tried to move, clenching his teeth. Soon he gave up, gasping in obvious pain, and slid back down on the shrapnel piercing his innards.

Then the young man closed his eye and furrowed his brow.

The Magitek core glowed brighter, his sword glowed hotter, and the debris that smouldered sullenly in the corners of the room flared up anew.

The oil in the air sizzled in response. The fires caught the magic in the oil, devoured it, grew large on its bounty.

Cyan strode forward and kicked the runic sword out of the young man's hand. The young man gasped as his thin wrist bent back at a strange angle. Squeezing his eye shut, he clutched the core closer to his chest, and the foul taste of magitek grew heavier in the air. The fires continued to grow.

Cyan drew his sword from its scabbard. Something must be done. The core was too dangerous—he knew he must not touch it or cut it with his blade. He must also not let it fall. He looked again at the blackened face and body of the young man, this ruined knight who stank of magitek. But this man was younger than the other knight like him, the woman. He was nearer in age to the boy from the Veldt. He was closer to a child than a man. He was a boy.

Cyan noticed more tears were leaking from the boy's eye, dripping into his exposed mouth cavity. "I did this," he said, air whistling through the empty spaces of his empty jaw. "I had to...I have to..." His voice was shockingly high.

Cyan noticed his own swordarm was trembling.

He wondered just how young the boy was—wondered how he had come to be here, near-dead but still trying to kill, still trying to live—and at this thought the emptiness in Cyan began to fill. He had never killed a child before.

"I have to...I have to…"

And Cyan remembered—

(There was another boy. He was your own, and your wife's. You loved him. You loved them both too much. Yet when the red rage came you left them. It was your fault. You killed them. Your own wife and son. Elayne, and Owain, you killed them both.)

"You have to…"

(They would not speak to you as they boarded the train because you killed them both. You should not have left them. You had your sword. You should have used it, and boarded the train with them...)

Cyan's free hand went to his throat. He was aware once more of the smoke in his lungs. When he breathed it was agony. A blade in his throat. He held a blade in his hands...it was for the boy, but if was also for him. He staggered backward, fell to his knees. Shrapnel dig into his flesh and he felt the pain; he could no longer ignore it. The room was hot, the smell of gunpowder and smoke suffocating. His ki was filled with poison: the iron stink of blood and magitek and weapons of war made out of things both living and dead.

(You had not thought revenge would feel like this.)

Dimly he heard the boy's wet, ragged breaths. The world did not care for such suffering; it had not cared for Cyan's wife and child. He knew this boy, this warrior-child must die by his hand. His hand must kill because it could not save anyone, not this boy and not himself and not his own wife and child. The truth of it was clawing its way into every corner of his mind...the memory of that room, the sounds Elayne and Owain had made, the moans and whimpers, high and keening, the blood gurgling on their lips. He did not want to remember but he could not escape. He was still there. He was grasping Elayne's lifeless hands against his brow, he was brushing his fingers over Owain's cheeks as those wide eyes went glassy and dead. They were the eyes of the fish floating at the surface of the castle moat, his body was the bodies bulging and pale in the oily, purpled waters. Cyan was still there, he was still there, his wife and child were dead and they were begging him to live, to be happy, their mouths spilling blood and forgiveness all at once, but he deserved none of it. I love you, said Elayne, Goodbye, said Owain, and Cyan deserved none of it, he would have none of it.

Then and now, Cyan wept, long, wracking sobs that tore through his body like a death rattle. He had not stayed to say goodbye. He had drawn his sword and let the red rage take him. He was the one who should have died, but he had lived, he still lived, and he wished it were not so.

Then and now, he knelt and held his sword in his hands. In the bright glint of its steel he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. His eyes were glassy and rimmed with red. The fire cast red over everything.

He thought he heard a voice calling him...a woman's voice, but not his wife's. It sounded sad. It did not matter. He put a hand against his chest, begging his lungs and throat to cease their spasms. He needed to empty himself once more. (You will remember later, and the pain will be all the greater for the delay.) He stumbled to his feet and moved forward, sword in hand. (You can escape, but never forever.) He reversed the grip on his sword so it pointed downward, took aim for the boy's heart, for his own. (A seat is ready for you on the phantom train.)

A hand lay itself on his sword arm, firmly. "Let me do it," said Locke.

Cyan startled, drawing his arm from the other man's grip reflexively. Only Locke's quick reflexes saved him losing an ear.

Behind Locke, Celes flinched. She held onto Locke's shoulder with one hand, and with the other used her runic blade to keep the fire at bay. The blade glowed so red it was almost black. Her veins stood out like a blue spiderweb pattern on her pale skin.

Chest heaving, Cyan stared at this man and woman who had stolen his escape. He wanted to scream, but whether with rage or despair he could not say.

He had no chance to speak. Celes, looking on the boy, made a noise of dismay and stumbled forward. Her runic sword clattered to the ground as she knelt beside him.

"Why are you here?" she said, voice weaker than her wont.

The boy stared back. "You," he wheezed. His torso twitched grotesquely, as if desiring to separate from his lower half; fresh blood seeped out around the shrapnel in his belly.

"Traitor," the boy said. He let his head sag to the side.

Celes went paler still. "You know why I had to leave."

The boy's single eye gazed at nothing, glassy and dead. "You left me alone with him."

The magitek core in his arms pulsed, and the fires in the room burned hotter.

"This kid is the source?" said Locke.

"He is," Celes whispered.

"Is he someone you…?"

Her parched lips barely moved. "I...please, someone, please end it."

Cyan's tears had dried to crusty remnants on his cheeks. His sword was still unsheathed. This was his duty. This was all he was able to do. He stepped forward, jerkily.

"I said, let me do it." Locke's voice was surprisingly gentle, even as he imposed his body in Cyan's way. "We, um, we saw how you looked. You shouldn't have to do this right now."

"Cyan, he's right." Celes' head was bowed. "Let him do it. I know that I...I can't right now."

Cyan did not know her meaning: did not know whether she spoke of physical or mental exhaustion or...aught else. But he saw her—he saw a woman who was sick of killing, sick of herself. (For what it is worth, I am sorry for what I have done.) The recognition was like a physical blow. Here she was, a traitor, a murderer, a fool...trying to make amends. To live.

The thought was not a happy one.

But Cyan's breath slowly eased out from his lungs. In the end the choice was not his to make. The burden was not his to take.

He nodded.

"Start getting out of here," said Locke, "both of you. And, Cyan...please take Celes' hand. The fire…"

Tentatively, Celes leaned down and picked up her sword. Tentatively, Cyan walked to her and extended his hand. Tentatively, she took it.

Immediately he could sense the fire's poisonous aura through her skin. Her magic was flowing into him...a strange feeling, like hot water circling his veins.

But when he looked to her, she nodded. Her sword had turned a lighter, warmer shade of red.

She turned to Locke. "Don't touch the magitek cylinder, not even with your blade. Don't move it. And...please, make it quick."

"Traitor," the boy said again, softly, clutching the magitek core like a mother.

"Goodbye," Celes said softly.

The flames roared as if in protest. A tremendous cracking sound from the roof sent shivers up Cyan's spine. The heavy wooden beams at the top of the tower would fall soon, and then the stone walls must collapse as well. The boy would die no matter what they did here...but a quick death or a prolonged one, mercy or pain, that was theirs to decide.

Cyan felt droplets of water against his cheek—rain falling through the widening cracks in the roof. He glanced upward, and realized he could glimpse the dark dome of the sky. The rain was so black, the fire so hot, but Celes murmured strange words and the air around them cooled and the fire sizzled away into her sword.

Not looking back, Cyan and Celes started down the crumbling stairs. From behind, came the familiar sound of Locke drawing out his crescent knife. It was a long, shivering sound.

Cyan realized, after several steps, that the wetness on his cheeks was not from the rain after all.


	5. A Stranger Walks Beside a Stranger

**Chapter 5: A Stranger Walks Beside a Stranger**

Celes was half-delirious by the time they were halfway down the tower.

"You're magic too, aren't you?" she mumbled, leaning into him. "You and Locke...all the humans...you all have it. No wonder Terra flew away."

But she raised her hand, spoke a few words of magic, and poured green healing light on the burns that marred his neck. "I'm full of this stuff," she muttered.

Locke, upon rejoining them, silently took hold of her other hand and walked behind them on the narrow stairs. Soon he looked sickly and pale too. It put Cyan in a guilty mind, to know that he could have been of help to them from the beginning.

Recriminations could wait for later, he decided. The fires were dying down, but the creaking and cracking sounds from above grew ominous.

"We'll make it," said Locke, putting on a cheerful air. "The roof has held out for this long. Why not hold out a little longer?"

Cyan gave a long sigh of relief as the exit came into view. Without thinking too much of it, he pulled Celes' arm around his shoulder and hurried down the rest of the stairs, Locke trundling after them. Just in time—a section of wall came crashing down on the stairs a moment after their passage.

Cyan waved away the stray sparks that threatened to land on Celes' lowered head. She barely seemed to notice. Her swordhand had dropped to her side though the blade still glowed red.

As they emerged from the tower, Cyan braced himself. The heavy fall of rain, the floodwaters around his feet, the cacophony of human voices—these were a shock after the dry, dead heat of the tower.

Beside him, Celes breathed in deeply of the fresh air. The eerie light around her sword finally died down. She opened her eyes.

"I'm all right," she said, pulling away from him and Locke. She could not seem to look them in the eye. "I, um..."

"Mister Thou!"

From the shadows, Gau leapt forward to pound on Cyan's armour with his fists.

"Why you go inside fire?" the boy demanded, shouted even. "Why you go alone?"

"Sir Gau," sputtered Cyan, fending off the heavy blows with his gauntlets.

"Stupid man! So stupid! Gau say already, no be sad, be strong and live, Mister Thou—but you be sad and stupid! You try to die!"

"Hey, take it easy!" said Locke. "Mister Thou is—is he Mister Thou again?"

"Sir Gau," said Cyan. "I did not think to…"

"You no think anything! No think of us!"

The boy halted his attack and buried his face against his fists, laying them heavily against Cyan's chestplate. Skin streaked with black rain, hair sticking out at all angles, he looked a bedraggled, desperate mess.

"Why don't we do this _away_ from the exploding, gas-filled tower," said Edgar, jogging toward them while casting nervous glances upward.

"Let's," said Sabin, who was right behind his brother.

The two of them grabbed Gau by the arms. "Stupid Mister Thou..." the boy muttered even as he was dragged away.

"Come on, kiddo. Wait until we're somewhere safe before we get into that."

Despite his soothing tone, Sabin's mouth was set in a thin, hard line.

Cyan felt their rage crash against him like a wave on the shore—receding now, but soon to return. How selfish was he? He had not given his friends a moment's thought while in the tower. He had not thought of anything at all, not until understanding had been forced on him, when he had seen the child in the tower, too late to be saved...

"You should talk with them," Celes said, voice far away, "while you can."

-0-0-

The caravans had been moved to higher ground, Edgar explained as they hurried away. "There's a hill not to far away that's high enough to stay out of the flood. There's some flora up there that keeps the soil stable, unlike most of our shifty sand dunes. Had a devil of a time getting the chocobos up the slope until we asked the nomads what to do, and they said to just let the birds find the way. They were right of course. Always listen to nomads, that's my philosophy."

As they moved further from the tower, the scent of oil lessened. The colour of the rain shifted from black to milky grey to water-clear. Cool droplets ran down Cyan's skin like a balm.

Locke was telling the others about the magitek armour, the rune knight...the mercy they'd granted him. He said nothing about Celes' distress, or Cyan's, instead speaking at length about the strange properties of the fire.

"It was hell up there," he said bluntly. "Ed, do you know why it happened?"

Behind them, the roof of the guard tower finally fell with a resounding crash. Cyan turned back in time to see the explosion—the magitek core, he thought grimly, as the walls of the tower blasted outward. Flaming rocks sizzled as they fell into the floodwaters, sending up huge gouts of oily steam.

The bodies inside...Cyan thought of the woman he'd seen wailing outside the tower, and wondered whether her child's body would ever be found; and he thought too of the boy clutching the magitek core to his chest, and wondered whether his body would ever be returned to his homeland, or if his burial was already complete.

"The magitek armour was captured from the Empire," said Edgar, speaking quietly now, and glancing around to make sure no outsiders were listening. "My soldiers came upon it abandoned in the west desert. Now I'm wondering if it was really abandoned after all."

"It was a trap," said Celes quietly, "set by Kefka."

Edgar sighed. "I figured as much. As for the rune knight, I suppose he must have been a spy who came in with the refugees."

"That makes sense," said Locke. "He was dressed like a civilian, not a soldier."

"However, the oil barrels were one-hundred percent product of Figaro. We must have found a deposit with...special properties."

"Of course," Locke groaned. "Any time we go digging for power..."

Celes walked straight ahead, not looking back at the fallen tower. But the stern set of her jaw did not fool him anymore. "That fire," she said, "must never be replicated. When we get to the camp, we should make sure that word doesn't get out about the magitek core, or the special oil."

Sabin, oddly quiet until now, gave a deep nod. "Yes, absolutely yes."

"But I doubt," said Locke, "we can keep everyone's mouth's shut."

"Fortunately, people will blame the Empire for everything." Edgar rubbed his chin. "You know, all fuels come from the remains of living things. I wonder what, exactly, was living under this desert?"

A thoughtful look passed over Locke's face. "My grandma used to tell me about a civilization older than Figaro in this area. Her stories were pretty fantastical—warriors throwing lightning bolts at each other and six-legged horses flying around and stuff like that. I always thought her stories were just fairy tales, but now..."

"But all the fairy tales keep coming true."

"Yep."

"When things have calmed down, maybe we can send some excavators—"

"Or maybe Figaro should leave well enough alone," said Sabin, "so no one has to go through that hell again."

Cyan saw Edgar's face fall, saw Sabin pretend not to notice. He saw the rigid set to the prince's shoulders, heard the anger simmering in his voice, and knew that it was him, not Edgar, who deserved the reprimand.

Celes was giving him a look ripe with significance.

So Cyan moved just beside the prince and murmured: "Pray walk with me, Sir Sabin."

Sabin nodded jerkily, slowing down so that he and Cyan were a little ways from the group.

"We had to hold Gau back," Sabin spoke without preamble. In the light of the remaining fires, eerie shadows lined the prince's face. "He was in a panic, almost a frenzy, when the caravaners said you went into the tower by yourself. They said it didn't look like you intended to come out again."

"Forgive me," said Cyan to Sabin. "I did not mean to...to put him or anyone in danger. I did not think anyone would follow me inside."

Sabin acted as if he had not heard. "To be honest, if it were up to me I would've let him go into the tower, and gone in with him to boot. But Edgar said it was too dangerous, the whole tower looked ready to come down, everyone who was there agreed with him. And I thought about it, I pictured rocks smashing onto his head, I thought of him sucking in all that smoke and not getting up again, and I couldn't do it, I couldn't let him go.

"Sir Sabin…"

"And if he couldn't go, he wasn't going to let me go either, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let Edgar go, and neither would his people because that would be stupid. So we had to trust Celes and Locke to talk some sense into you, even though you seemed to hate the both of them, and the rest of us just sat down here and twiddled our thumbs."

Sabin took a deep, steadying breath.

"You don't owe anything to me. You're a grown man—if you want to throw your life away, it's not like I can stop you. I tried once. I'm not sure it worked.

"But Gau, you owe him something. I'm not talking about keeping him safe or anything, because he can take care of himself plenty well. I'm not talking about life-debt, honour-shmonour stuff either. We've all saved each other's butts a dozen times over, we've been over that.

"But, you know, Gau—it's easy to forget he's still a kid. When we met him, he was starving. I don't mean for food. It kind of hit me later, after he left the Veldt and came with us on that crazy journey down the Serpent Trench. Why did he do that? Where was his own family? I don't know if you ever thought about any of this, I know you're still mourning your own family. But you weren't with me when I met this old man was was probably Gau's father... the man who threw him away. He was crazy. Kept asking me to fix his clock."

Sabin looked toward Gau. He was far ahead of the group, loping awkwardly through the water nearly on all fours, a child in the wilderness once more. As he ran, he kept looking up at the cloud-darkened sky, face pensive and wistful with some unknown need.

Watching him, Cyan felt his old heart thudding painfully within his chest. He imagined his own Owain splashing in the rainwater like this, eyes alight with joy, imagined Elayne standing watch where Sabin stood, and it was too much to constrain or contain any longer, too much to bear alone.

Sabin saw the tears, was good enough not to speak of them. He put an arm around Cyan's shoulder, as Cyan had done earlier for Celes. For a long while they only walked. "Cyan, I know it's hard for you, but..don't become like Shadow, okay? 'The reaper is a step behind me' and all that nonsense. We've all got terrible things in our pasts, me and Gau included, but that's exactly why we stay together. To hold each other up." His voice softened. "So don't go running off to get yourself killed, not without us. Okay?"

"Aye," said Cyan, head still bowed. "Aye."

-0-0-

On arriving at the encampment, the immediacy of need served to shake Cyan from his too-inward contemplations. A wet, shivering mass of humanity greeted him; he gazed at them in dismay, wondering at their number. There were perhaps two hundred here, many of them children.

"They're not all caravaners. Most are refugees from South Figaro," Edgar told them, face drawn with weariness. The climb up to this plateau had not been a difficult one, but it had come after a long, long night of toil. "Those who could not, or would not, take refuge in the castle have come here to try to rebuild their lives."

"Damn it all," Sabin swore.

"At least it's dry here," Locke said, trying to infect some levity in his voice. "On the ground I mean."

There was little chance to rest or talk amongst themselves. No sooner had they stepped into the circle of lamplight surrounding the impromptu camp than a of people surged toward them.

"King Edgar, Your Highness, thank you, thank you for stopping the fire!"

"Why did this happen? Why was it burning even in the rain? Did the Empire do this?"

"Is that Prince Sabin?"

Edgar was immediately whisked away to meet with the leader of the nomads; Sabin, ducking his head, volunteered to "do some heavy lifting" to help rig up temporary shelters, and dragged Gau with him. Cyan eyed them askance, thinking to go with them, but Sabin caught his eye and shook his head. Beside him, Gau walked unnaturally upright, his steps stiff with unease among this close-pressed crowd.

"I'm going over there," said Celes, pointing at a caravan. Inside it lay many unfortunates whose skin looked to be burned beyond repair.

"Don't you need to rest?" said Locke, twisting a jewelled ring around his finger. "We're still not really sure what the effects are of, you know, absorbing magitek."

"That's why I want to get it out. I'm brimming with the stuff." But she did not complain when Locke stayed by her side.

And what could Cyan Garamonde do to help? Walking among the people, he recognized in their faces those feelings of placelessness and fear, loss and loneliness that had assaulted him after Doma was taken. If he were honest with himself, those emotions still sat like a stone within his stomach...but somehow they had become easier to bear, knowing that there was work to be done.

_Penance_, he had thought in the tower, and so set himself to it.

-0-0-

"We came here to be safe, and look how safe we are," complained one old woman to Cyan as he lay a poultice against her burned right eyelid. "I don't doubt we're safer than some, but a lot less safe than most, out in the open like this. And freezing our wet little hineys off."

Cyan nodded, concentrating on her eye. He was only attempting to treat it because someone had pressed the poultice in his hand and told him what to do. Though he knew something of field medicine and herbs, the methods and supplies used here were unfamiliar, and the eye was such a delicate organ...besides which, the old woman seemed to take more comfort from his willing ear, and from the fig wine she was drinking, than any aid he provided for her eye.

The two of them sat on a dry blanket on a bed of straw under a makeshift canopy lashed to a caravan—truly a place of luxury.

"You and your family are from South Figaro?" he said.

"We are, but I was born here in this desert, a right proper nomad I was until my mother remarried and we moved to the south, me just a wee little one at the time. You'll notice my accent still has a little of the desert in it."

Cyan murmured his agreement, though he could discern no such thing. "Your family is nearby?"

"They're in the castle." She shrugged, a gesture he had come to understand after spending some time with Sir Sabin and the rest. "I was the only one who wanted to come back to the nomadic life. Never had a chance to until now. I've a lot to learn, or relearn rather, from the desert."

Cyan nodded. It was a caravaner who had passed the poultice to him; it was they who were giving so much, without hesitation, to the refugees. He was beginning to realize that there were a number of different languages and colourings and styles of clothing among the people here, and the divisions between the nomads, refugees and castle folk were not so clear. The nuances were quiet lost on him, however. He wondered what Sir Sabin had left behind and what he had gained, when he had chosen to leave his homeland behind for another.

"Not a happy way to come home," he said to the old woman, "but a homecoming nonetheless."

"You're a longer way from home though, aren't you?"

"I am. From Doma."

The woman put forth a loud harrumph. "Attacked as well, I heard."

"Yes," said Cyan. He found himself unable to say more, but his listener gave a vigorous harrumph.

"Well, let me tell you those Imperials are a no-good lot, every last one of them. You would've been in Narshe with King Edgar during that recent bit of mischief, aye? Well, after you beat them so soundly, praise be, those Imperial bastards came down and demanded water from us here at the oasis, housing for the night too, and we of course rattled our autocrossbows and told them they could get a good nightmare's sleep in the desert. I sincerely hope the sand scorpions or sand rays or what-have-you made their acquaintance, as I do love sand rays. Guardian deities of the desert they are."

"I suppose that must be true," said Cyan, though it was difficult to comment on these animals he had heard so much of but never seen.

"When the Imperials left, there was a right mess of broken equipment and other trash where they'd camped, including that busted-up magitek armour. We couldn't believe our luck! Couldn't believe either the Empire'd let their precious tech fall into King Edgar's grubby little engineer's hands...though come to think on it they didn't let him have it in the end, did they?"

"What do you mean?"

She leaned forward. "What did you see in the tower? How did they start that fire?"

Cyan kept his expression neutral. He had been warned not to speak, but he would not have spoken anyway, not of the boy.

"I am not certain," he said. "I only know what I saw: an inferno that consumed everything around it, even the rain. It was an evil thing, and I have no desire to learn more of it."

The woman cast a shrewd look his way. "Like the Empire itself," she said.

"Aye. No country should aim to amass such power. The Emperor must be a truly evil man. But as for the soldiers—"

"We should burn them to hell, every last one of them."

A few hours ago, Cyan would have vehemently agreed. But now, he found his mouth stopped, his mind filled with doubt.

He had seen two sides of the Empire this night: two rune knights, two different choices. Both had killed; neither could be entirely blamed nor entirely forgiven.

What was it Locke had said? _The place you grow up in, the stories you're told...we've all got a bit of a Slave Crown on our heads, don't you think?_

He raised his eyes and looked for the glow of magic that meant Celes was working nearby. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed. He remembered how her magic felt, the way the very air itself seemed to wrap itself around her spellarm, the same as around his sword when he trained on the windward side of the mountain...

Beside her was Locke, half-watching Celes even as he worked beside her, mixing salves and slicing bandages and other tasks for nimble hands. His eyes were still sharp, despite the grey shadows beneath them.

"We cannot simply forgive," said Cyan to the old woman. "I am a warrior, and I will not rest until the Empire has fallen."

The old woman nodded approvingly.

"But I have realized," he said slowly, thinking hard on his words, "that if I fight only for vengeance, then I fight for...for myself. For the poisoning of my own soul." He averted his eyes, trying and failing to keep his emotions in check. "Not every person in the Empire is evil—I have seen this. There are many who will defect if given the chance."

"Like the pretty young thing with the magic glow over there?"

Cyan kept his expression the same as it was. "I will fight to free those people as well as my own. Only then can Doma live again. Only then can I face my family again."

The old woman leaned back in a slouch. Cyan had to move forward to keep the poultice against her eye. He waited while she took a long drink of wine from her flask.

"How can you believe that? After what they did to your people?"

The hand clutching the poultice clutched it a little harder. "It is difficult."

"But you do. You're doing it. You're fighting with that woman, not against her."

This was an easier question to answer. "She saved my life. She saved many lives tonight. I would not repay my debt by casting invective upon her name. Rather, I would walk beside her, strangers to each other until we are strangers no more."

After a long while, the old woman said, "You Domans. So poetic. So honourable."

"I have been called worse."

Her one good eye glittered suspiciously bright. "I do hope you find your way home someday, Sir Knight."


	6. The Flowers Bloom at Dawn

**Chapter 6: The Flowers Bloom at Dawn**

Cyan did not lie down to sleep all that long night.

In the hours remaining until sunrise he applied himself to the work at hand: pressed poultices and stirred salves, hauled debris and lashed ropes to trees, spoke words of comfort where he could, provided moments of distraction where he could not.

"Is that the Doman?"

"He's Prince Sabin's retainer now, I heard."

"I heard he defeated the fire with his sword."

"How would he do that?"

"Giant _whoosh_, I reckon."

A strange man among strange people, he mused.

At times he caught sight of his traveling companions, their faces drawn with exhaustion in the flickering lamplight. They had their own tasks and he did not seek them out. He would have many chances to speak with them later.

"Let me touch your hair," one young girl demanded.

"That is a strange request," said Cyan.

He was already bowing his head to bring it close to her hand.

"It is very soft, like Nikean silk."

"I was in the market in Nikeah quite recently, and had occasion to see this famed silk you speak of. I regret to inform you that Doman silk is much finer."

"It is not."

"My ribbon is Doman-made. How does it feel?"

"Wet."

But he was not so young anymore; he had not slept for a full day and night, and a hard day of travel and a harder night of labour had taken their toll.

Seated against a scraggly desert tree, he closed his eyes and dozed upright, an old soldier's trick. The rain was finally softening, the sound of it a soothing lullaby after the long storm. Under the protection of this tree, scarce as it was, he would rest but a moment...

Half-awake, half-sleeping, he dreamed. He dreamed of many things: of the young woman screaming for her child, the old woman eyeing him with her one eye, the young girl stroking his ribbon, Owain reaching up and stroking his hair; and he dreamed too of things unseen: of sand rays and desert flowers, white-topped caravans trundling over high dunes under hot sun, and in the distance a stone castle rising triumphant from the sand, but flying flags in Doman blue not Figaran red; and he dreamed that he entered the castle and walked to that room, where he saw Elayne's smile and heard Elayne's voice and Elayne's last _I love you_, Owain's last _goodbye, _and in his dream Cyan said _I love you _and _goodbye _in return.

But then he remembered that he had not said those words; he remembered the red rage and waking to blood on his sword, and thinking the blood was theirs but should have been his; and then he woke with a breathless terror made half of pain and half of love, two sides of the same coin, the price he had paid—and chose still to pay—for living.

The sun was too bright. Cyan scrunched his eyes shut.

Of course the dark could not be banished so easily. It would stay within him always, ready to infect his spirit again. The fear of it, of falling again into that spiralling sea, was a sort of terror in itself—and he thought again of his words to the old woman yesterday, wondering whether those had been a lie after all.

Would he forever fear the unguarded twilight times? Those moments between waking and sleeping, living and dreaming, when his mind wandered near the realm of the dead? He would. For here was the black again, here were Elayne's whispers and Owain's cries, and last of all here was the phantom train's long, mournful whistle in his ear, beckoning.

But he had made his choice, he reminded himself in a near-panic. He was not one to turn a vow to dishonour. He would live. He would do more than live. He would—

"Cyan." Sabin's voice; a light touch upon his shoulder. "You should see this."

His eyes flew open. Sabin knelt on one knee before him, blue eyes alight.

"Look."

Sabin made an expansive gesture at the blur of scenery behind him, then sat himself down beside Cyan. The air was dazzling—blindingly bright, after the long night. Cyan rubbed at his eyes, dimly aware of a cloudless day, fresh and crisp, coloured by the scent of...

"You see that?" said Sabin. "What did I tell ya?"

...flowers. Everywhere flowers, and plants, and life: dew-laced buds in pale pinks and deepening yellows, aching to bloom; mounds of grey-green succulents, fleshy leaves spiralling and twisting in strange, graceful shapes; and insects of all sorts, chirping crickets and buzzing flies and ants too quiet for his ears, crawling every which way. Indeed, quite a few ants were marching their way up their legs, but Sabin reached down and let one crawl on his finger, and Cyan trusted he was in no danger.

Around them, people picked their way carefully through the blooms, murmuring to each other their delight. Their sorrow had fallen away for the nonce; the mood was one of shared, hushed reverence. Even the children were careful not to trample the plants underfoot, even as they quietly laughed and played amongst nature's bounty.

Watching this, Cyan felt his spirit calm. The sounds of the living world filled his ears, too loud here in the _now_ to be ignored.

"Amazing, isn't it?" said Sabin. "Only once every two, maybe three years. The seeds were all there, they just needed a little rain to give them a push."

"I had not thought the desert could be so lovely," Cyan said honestly.

"Yeah. Me too. I mean, I've seen it before, but it's still magic, every time."

Sabin's voice went wistful as he ran his fingers down the stalk of a bright, star-shaped flower. His large hands were oddly gentle. "Dad always loved these ones. I think it was my mom's favourite, but he never said that. It was hard for him to talk about her."

Cyan bowed his head. He had forgotten, in his own grief, what this homecoming must mean to his friend. Perhaps Sabin's strange moods of late had less to do with Edgar and more to do with past sorrows. "You must miss them."

"It was ten years ago, when my father died. My mom, she died in childbirth. Ancient history. But being here, it's like..."

Cyan waited, but his friend did not, or could not, continue. He looked down again at Sabin's hand, which still lay against the king's favourite flower. Such a small, delicate shape, the five petals gently tapering at the tips. The colour was not so subtle: a brilliant yellow-orange, fading to pale pink at the edges. It made one think of sunset, or sunrise, he could not say which.

He heard the sound of weeping; a woman, wearing a scarf around her head. It was the young woman from last night, the one who had lost her child within the tower.

Cyan made to stand, but Sabin put a heavy hand across his arm.

"I'll go to her. She's my subject and all," said the prince, voice a little hoarse. "You should go find Gau. Good time for it right now. Dawn, and flowers, you know."

"Aye," said Cyan, heart full. "I know."

-0-0-

Across the plateau, and even down among the sand dunes, everywhere the landscape was awash with colour.

Cyan looked upon a world transformed, a desert bursting with life, and wondered again how this had come to be. Perhaps this place had always been so full of poetry, if only he had known how to look.

_One day,_ he thought, _I will return here with you, and I will tell you of this place. Of the rain, of the flowers that follow, of the kind people who gave me comfort. And I know you will be glad: the world is not all war and hurt and darkness._

He found Gau in the lowlands, not on the crowded plateau. Here, water still gurgled through the grooves in the sand, but Gau had chosen to rest upon a slanting low hill, where the ground was already nearly dry in the first glow of morning heat.

The boy sat hunched among the flowers, watching Cyan approach.

They neither of them spoke. Cyan seated himself beside Gau and stayed silent, knowing that words would only betray him here. This boy was not one who understood the world through words.

For a long while they stayed still, listening: to the insects buzzing next to their ears, to the birds twittering far above, to the wind blowing warm across the sands. He remembered to be watchful; now that the storm was past, the old dangers would return. It was easy to forget.

His fingers ran through coarse yellow grasses, through the soft white petals of newborn wildflowers, and Cyan knew that both had a rightful place here. Even the feared sand rays, he mused, must have their role in the balance of this place.

Out of the corner of his eye he peered at Gau. The boy did not look angry. He looked at home, at peace. Cyan recalled the Veldt, the times the three of them had rested together on the hot savanna. Gau had done his best to care for them; once he had joined them the way became easier. It had not all been pleasant, of course. He recalled the wild dogs who came for their stores of drying meat, and the time when their water had nearly run out, despite all of Gau's teachings. He remembered too the stories of loss Gau had told him more recently, of the tusker and the chocobo and the girl-child: and he heard the echo of the phantom train again, its clunking, hollow beat on the rusted tracks.

But his ghosts stayed quiet; _dawn, and flowers_, as Sabin had said. How fortunate he was to have such a friend.

Moved by this thought, he turned to his companion—this boy from the wilderness, Gau, still a child, who had berated Cyan as if _he _were a child. Who had spoken with real fear for the safety of his charge, like a father. Who had tried to teach Cyan how to live, if only this foolish old man would have listened. _Gau say, listen to voice of wind, listen to nose, and you will live._

Gau was watching a pair of fledgling birds bathe themselves in a puddle, soft grey bodies puffed up into round, wet balls of down. Wings fluttered furiously, sending up a storm of water droplets shining with reflected light. It was uncommonly lovely—"cute," even, in the common parlance. He wondered, though, where the parents of these birds had gone...

_Ah_, he thought, aching with the realization.

It was no betrayal to Owain and Elayne, was it? How could it be? Gau was his own person, not his lost son. Owain could never be replaced, and loss, loss itself could not be erased. It could only become part of the whole that was this world.

Cyan rubbed at his eyes—so many tears, in just one night and one day.

Blinking, he gazed again upon the life blossoming across the lowlands. He could not see it well for his tears. But he could see it well enough.

_Desert sun rises_  
_Flowers bloom o'er rain-soaked sands  
__A world of dew indeed._

_Still, the ghost train calls me_  
_Still, your voices live in me_  
_Until the end, I ask thee, wait  
__One long moment more._

He let the wind carry his whispers: _I love_ you, he said, and _Goodbye_.

Then he reached out and took Gau's hand in his.

-0 End 0-

* * *

Author's notes:

1) The line "A world of dew indeed" is from a very famous haiku by Issa.

2) Kaori Tanaka, the character designer who created Sabin and Edgar, revealed a few (somewhat not-canonical) details about them in her doujinshi "The Marriage of Figaro," such as her idea that Sabin, Cyan and Gau form a familial bond based on their shared experience of losing family members.

3) On a personal note...

Welp, this is the Cyan-centred longfic I never, ever expected to write. I found it very challenging and I don't think I ever really captured Cyan's voice—partly, perhaps, because I decided not to use "thee," "thou" etc. (I find it really awkward to read those sorts of words unless a person writes like Shakespeare, and I can't write like Shakespeare.)

I surprised myself by writing a fic about depression (however clumsily I handled the subject), rather than a simple enemies-become-friends fic like I expected. I experienced a work-related bout of depression a few months ago, which has lingered to some extent, on and off, into the present. So I guess this fic was my subconscious telling me to deal with things, and the fic itself, though painful to write (I really wished I'd made it shorter…), was in the end pretty cathartic. I found comfort in some of the same ways that Cyan did—by remembering to appreciate the people I care about, reconnecting with nature, educating myself about healing, and ultimately by taking action to help others and myself and this planet. Along the way I've been supported so much, over and over, by people who love me, and I've realized how lucky and privileged I am, in so many ways.

So while I don't think this is my best fic ever, it's one that means a lot to me personally. Thank you so much to The_Exile for requesting it :D


End file.
